


Book Binding

by Flywolf33



Series: Angels, Demons, and Hunters [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Aziraphale/Crowley - Freeform, Bobby Singer and Aziraphale bromance, Books, Crowley and Dean being buds, Dean and Crowley go on a hunting trip, Established Relationship, Field Trip, Hunting, I'll update the tags as I go, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Protective Crowley, Protective Dean, Supernatural - Freeform, This should be on AO3 only, Writing Prompt, book hunting, damsel in distress aziraphale, do not repost to another site, good omens - Freeform, ineffable husbands, mention of Destiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywolf33/pseuds/Flywolf33
Summary: Writing prompt from DivinecroneAziraphale invites Bobby and Sam on a book acquisition trip, dealer's choice if something goes sideways and tagalongs go from bored to rescue mission (bonus points if Crowley tells Dean and Cas about saving Aziraphale during the French Revolution and they all go for crepes).In which Aziraphale joins Bobby and Sam to collect an early edition of the Epistle of Barnabas and Dean and Crowley go for a hunt... and nothing goes according to plan.Updates on Sundays.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley, Bobby Singer & Aziraphale, Bobby Singer & Aziraphale & Sam Winchester, Crowley & Dean Winchester
Series: Angels, Demons, and Hunters [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1494296
Comments: 244
Kudos: 519





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [divinecrone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinecrone/gifts).



> "I'll update soon"  
> ...
> 
> I honestly have very little excuse.... life has been insane really but I should have written sooner really. 
> 
> I don't know how fast I'll be able to update, since with COVID-19 being a bitch and I'm in Utah and we just had that earthquake (fortunately I wasn't affected and even though my parents felt it and the house moved bad, nothing is broken and all is well), things have been hectic. Once I get moved again within the next month and school ends, I'll have a ton more free time. And I'm getting my muse back.
> 
> Hope you all can forgive my absence and I hope you're still interested in this series. I still have a ton of prompts to respond to and plans for the series!

Aziraphale was giddy, and if Crowley didn’t love him so _damn much_ he would be irritated.

The pair were spending far more time in America than the former demon appreciated; he’d never liked America – the Revolutionary War had gotten him in quite a bit of trouble, though his corruption of her politics had helped assuage his superiors – and he much preferred the comforts and familiarity of England. That being said, Aziraphale had grown quite fond of their new hunter… friends, he supposed was the word he ought to use at this point. The former angel was particularly friendly with Bobby; the pair shared many stimulating conversations and Aziraphale had even grown comfortable enough to leave a few of his books unattended with the grizzled man.

Crowley was decidedly _not_ jealous. At all.

Sam was trying to worm his way into this new bromance, but he was still very much a third wheel; Aziraphale hadn’t quite forgiven him for the whole debacle surrounding their current condition, and the former angel was even chillier with Dean, who had actually thrown the Holy water that started everything.

Crowley, on the other hand, was starting to find the elder Winchester brother to be quite the drinking companion and thought it great fun to see just how fast he could get the human sloshed enough to let down his guard and then rib him about Castiel, much to Aziraphale’s consternation. They’d expected Sam and Bobby to put a stop to it once they noticed what the former demon was playing at, but they turned out to be delighted.

They didn’t see much of Castiel. The angel was busy doing… well, whatever it was he was doing to try and keep Raphael from restarting Armageddon.

The hunting trio even had Crowley’s _phone number_ – which Aziraphale had given them _without asking_ , he might add. This brought him back to why Aziraphale was giddy: Bobby had invited them (read: Aziraphale) on a book acquisition trip. Apparently, the oldest hunter knew some people from all kinds of backgrounds – not surprising – and one of his less-than-human acquaintances had located a manuscript and claimed it to be an early rendition of the Epistle of Barnabas. He wanted Aziraphale to come along and validate it.

Which meant they were going back to America.

“You don’t _have_ to come,” Aziraphale pointed out, watching Crowley vent his frustrations to his plants.

“Of course I do, angel,” Crowley said, offering a final glare at a trembling fern.

“I know you don’t like books the way I do,” Aziraphale continued, “and you positively _hate_ America.”

“Yeah, but you’re a trouble magnet,” the former demon crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, staring at his partner, “and those Winchesters are _worse_. I suspect whatever their Castiel is doing isn’t making things any easier for them either.”

Aziraphale huffed. “I am _not_ a trouble magnet. Don’t give me that look,” he added severely when Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Of course you are,” Crowley said, lifting his hands placatingly. “I just don’t trust _them_.”

“I thought you and _Dean_ were growing rather close,” Aziraphale sniffed, looking away.

A grin slowly spread across Crowley’s face. “Jealous, angel?”

“Me? Of course not.”

Crowley pushed off from the wall and guided Aziraphale’s face back to his. “Good. You don’t need to be. I just enjoy watching him squirm.”

The former angel grew bright red, which only worsened when Crowley placed a quick kiss on the tip of his nose and sauntered off to finish watering his plants before they popped off to go book hunting.

“There is no way I’m going,” Dean was insisting, arms folded as he leaned against the counter. Crowley was draped across one of the kitchen chairs, looking between the elder Winchester and his much taller brother.

“Dean, come _on_ ,” Sam pled, very much excited and obviously disappointed his brother was fighting him. “Think of how awesome an original copy of the Epistle of Barnabas would be!”

“I don’t even know what that is!”

Sam opened his mouth to explain, but Crowley interrupted. “If you three want to go on and have fun, Dean and I can hold down the fort,” he offered lazily.

Sam frowned disapprovingly at him. “It’s a bit early in the day for drinking.”

Crowley lifted his glasses and squinted at the hunter skeptically. “Is it?”

Unnerved as always by the sight of the former demon’s eyes, Sam backed down. “Fine, but if you need anything, call.”

Dean flashed Crowley a grateful look before shooing his brother off to join their father figure and ethereal friend out front. Once Bobby’s beat up Chevelle had pulled out the drive and they were sure the book-hunting group was gone, Dean snatched a beer from the fridge and plopped himself in a chair across the table from Crowley. The hunter opened a laptop even as he took a swig from his bottle. He didn’t miss Crowley’s disgusted face.

“Much as it pains me to say it, Sam’s right. It’s too early to get wasted, especially when there’s work to be done.”

“Work?” Crowley sniffed, miracling himself a glass of wine.

Dean leaned back in his chair to scroll through whatever he was looking at on his screen. “If it’s so easy to just whip up whatever you fancy, why doesn’t Cas do it?”

Crowley sipped his wine before answering. “It’s not easy for everyone, and it’s much harder when possesssssing a vessel,” he explained. “I’ve been here since the beginning, and I’ve had this body for 6000 years. I’ve spent a lot of time practicing. Your baby angel is young.”

“So… he _is_ just a baby in a trenchcoat…” Dean muttered with a smirk, not looking up from his computer.

Crowley didn’t ask.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping at their respective drinks until Dean guzzled down the rest of his beer and stretched. “Found a job,” he said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “A job?”

“I told you, there’s work to do. Monsters to hunt. People to save. Y’know, the family business. Once the others get back from their field trip, Sam and I can head out.”

“What are you going to do until then?”

Dean shrugged and stood. “Pack and get some sleep. Maybe I’ll do some work on Baby.”

The former demon groaned, head rolling back so he could stare at the ceiling as Dean tossed his empty bottle in the trash and went for another.

“What’s the job?”

The hunter glanced at him. “Looks like there might be a poltergeist in a warehouse in Omaha.”

Crowley drained his glass and swung from the chair in the way only _he_ could – hips first. “Let’s go, then.”

Dean stared at him for a moment. “You… want to go on a hunt?”

Crowley shrugged. “Don’t see why not. I’m bored and like you said, the others are on a field trip.”

The hunter was silent for a minute more before placing his beer back in the fridge. “Let me grab a few things and we can head out. And don’t-” he whipped around, pointing at Crowley even as the former demon raised his hand to snap, “teleport us. We do this my way, or you don’t tag along.”

“I don’t suppose I get to drive?”

“Snowball’s chance,” Dean scoffed, heading for the stairs.

“Hell’s not even that hot,” Crowley mumbled, slouching into the livingroom to wait. “It’s actually pretty cold.”

Dean thundered back down the stairs, large duffle bag in hand. “Ready?”

Crowley followed the hunter out the front and paused when he saw Dean’s car. He raised an eyebrow.

At least the man had taste.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this a day early this time.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Aziraphale had to admit Sam wasn’t all that bad once he got to know him. He was certainly more empathetic than his older brother, and far more enthusiastic about the intellectual side of hunting. He didn’t seem all that interested in killing things so much as saving people. The former angel got the impression the Winchester was trying to prove something.

He said as much to Bobby while Sam was in a petrol station – although they called them ‘gas stations’ in America – and the grizzled man grew serious. “He’s had a rough go of it. Both the boys have. And Sam… well. He was always more level-headed, but now…” Bobby leaned against the side of the car. “Well, it’s not my place to tell you. That’s up to him.”

Aziraphale wanted to protest but thought better of it. Bobby did not seem the kind of man to argue with.

Sam returned with an armful of snacks and the trio packed back into the car. Aziraphale had volunteered to sit in the back; he didn’t think it would be particularly comfortable for someone as tall as Sam. And if the former angel used a minor miracle to give himself a bit more space… well. That was hardly anybody’s business.

“I wonder what Crowley and Dean are up to,” Sam mused after several long hours.

“Drunk out of their minds, I expect,” Aziraphale said without glancing up from the Wilde book he was currently reading.

Sam sighed. “Dean’s got a drinking problem on his own. I wish Crowley wouldn’t enable him. If a monster doesn’t kill Dean, his liver will.”

“I’m sure Crowley would be happy to clean up any damage caused by their drinking,” Aziraphale turned the page, “and if he doesn’t, I will. He’s already been using miracles to keep Dean coherent longer than his usual tolerance would allow.”

“Why?” Bobby asked.

“Drinking with someone who’s passed out is no fun.”

“Fair,” Sam shrugged. “That doesn’t make me feel any better though. What if he gets wasted on his own and over-drinks?”

Aziraphale hummed and closed his book, finally looking up to see Sam twisted around in his seat with a concerned look. “I’ll have a word with Crowley about it.”

Relief flooded Sam’s face and he sat back in his seat again as Bobby turned onto a gravel road.

“Are we there already?” Aziraphale asked. “I rather thought it would take longer.”

“I took a shortcut,” Bobby said gruffly, “and I called ahead to move the meeting place. I don’t like leaving Dean alone with Crowley.” He glanced at his passenger in the rear-view mirror. “No offense.”

“None taken my dear boy.”

Bobby looked affronted. “I may not be as old as you, but I’m no kid.”

“My apologies. I’m afraid I’ve gotten into the habit of referring to everyone as such.”

The older hunter grunted and returned his focus to the road.

It was almost another hour before they came to a stop in front of a large barn. The roof appeared to be falling in and there was rough patchwork on the walls. Aziraphale immediately felt uneasy. 

“Do you usually meet friends in these kinds of places?”

“You’d be surprised,” Bobby said, closing the car door as he tucked a gun into his belt. “It’s why we come prepared. But I’ve worked with Adaline before; she’s a bitch, but she’s good at finding rare items.”

“If you trust her, why am I here?” Aziraphale eyed the barn. He’d like for nothing more than Crowley to be with him, especially since neither of them actually know what would or wouldn’t hurt them.

“Trust, but verify,” Sam piped up.

“Better not to trust,” Bobby added.

“Ah. Well then. Best get to it then, yes?”

The trio headed for the barn, Sam and Bobby walking side by side, and Aziraphale behind. He didn’t like the way the air smelled. He’d known going into this that Bobby’s friend wasn’t human, but he wasn’t privy to what _exactly_ wasn’t human about her.

“Bobby!” a woman’s voice greeted as the hunters pushed through the barn’s doors. Aziraphale paused outside. “It’s been what, ten years?”

“Adaline,” the hunter returned the greeting. “Something in that realm, yeah.”

“Who is this?”

“This is Sam, one of my boys.”

“Winchester?” there was a nervous tinge to her voice.

There was a moment of silence in which Aziraphale assumed something nonverbal passed between those inside. The former angel sighed and forced himself inside. If something bad was going to happen, he’d rather be there to help the hunters.

Standing in the middle of the barn was a short woman who looked to be of Native American descent in a dark red suit. Four people stood behind her, two to each side of her. They all seemed to share her heritage, though they were all a full head taller. All were dressed in professional clothing.

Upon the former angel’s entry, the woman in red stood straight and stared at him, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply. She turned her face towards Bobby, though her eyes never left Aziraphale. “Who’s this treat?” she asked, striding across the room.

“A rare books dealer from the UK,” Bobby answered, shooting Aziraphale a warning look. “He was in town and I thought he’d like to come along.”

The woman, Adaline he presumed, paced around Aziraphale as if examining wares before stepping back. She turned a wry smile to the elder hunter, finally removing her gaze. “Don’t lie to me, Bobby,” she said. “I know he’s not human.”

“Neither are you,” Aziraphale said curtly.

Adaline’s dark eyes snapped back to his and a grin split her face. “And what are you then?”

The former angel said nothing, merely stared calmly back at her. The smile slowly faded, but the twinkle remained in her eye. She snapped and one of her men came forward with a box and handed it to her. 

“Here’s the Epistle,” she said, opening the box to show them an ancient scroll.

Bobby glanced at Aziraphale.

The former angel hesitantly moved closer, only taking his eyes of Adaline to glance down at the paper. “It’s certainly old enough,” he said, stepping back again and returning his gaze to the woman behind the box. Her scrutiny was making him incredibly uneasy. “I won’t know for sure the authenticity until I can get a proper look at it.”

The box snapped shut. “New price,” Adaline said sharply. “The Epistle of Barnabas for… whatever _he_ is.”

“What?” Aziraphale exclaimed, glancing between the woman and Bobby, fearing for a moment the hunter had brought him along as a negotiation.

He needn’t have feared. Sam stepped defensively in front of him even as Bobby spoke, voice hard. “I don’t trade in people, Adaline. And he’s a friend.”

Adaline shrugged, passing the box back to the man behind her. “No deal then.”

“We agreed on a price,” Bobby said. “Do you really want to back out of a deal with _me_?”

“You know how this works, Bobby. I always get what I want, and I want _him_.”

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked.

She smiled. “I don’t know what you are, but I can find out. Either way, I’m sure your parts can be sold at a high price.”

Aziraphale’s stomach turned as Bobby growled. “No deal, then. Let’s go.”

“You think I’m going to let a profit like _that_ walk out the door?” Adaline laughed for a moment, then suddenly turned deadly serious. “I don’t think so.”

Aziraphale barely saw them move; all four of Adaline’s body guards were suddenly running at them, even as the woman herself drew a gun. Bobby and Sam had their weapons halfway out when the attackers hit them. The former angel was just recovering from the shock when a loud bang resounded through the barn.

Everything fell still. The hunters were pinned to the floor, weapons knocked out of reach and their arms pinned firmly behind their backs. Bobby had blood on one side of his face.

Aziraphale quickly became aware of a burning pain spreading through his left shoulder and slowly looked down to see a dark stain spreading on his coat. He blinked. “Oh dear,” he muttered before falling backwards. He was unable to catch himself. 

“The bullets are laced with a paralytic,” Adaline said proudly, stepping over him. “Like it?”

Aziraphale said nothing; he found he couldn’t make his jaw work.

“What the hell, Adaline?” Bobby growled.

She looked up at him. “It’s nothing personal. Just good business.”

Sam thrashed on the ground, earning himself a sharp punch to the back of his head. His face bounced into the ground and Aziraphale internally winced.

“Tie them up and get them in the van,” Adaline commanded, stepping away from Aziraphale. “I want this one immobilized and drugged. We don’t know what he is, and therefore we don’t know what he’s capable of. Let’s get moving! I don’t want Dean Winchester on our backs.”

 _Or Crowley,_ Aziraphale thought smugly, though it only lasted a moment as a cloth reeking of chemical was held over his face and everything quickly went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the chapter, please leave me a comment! I live on them.  
> If you _didn't_ like it, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve!
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!
> 
> ...I'm lonely...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Dean have very different taste in accommodations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! 
> 
> And for those who celebrate it, Happy Palm Sunday!

Crowley hated sitting passenger. He could have gotten them there in half the time had he been allowed to drive, but if the Impala were humanoid Dean probably would have married it. Dean hadn’t said much; just told Crowley not to make a mess or slam “Baby’s” doors. The former demon was tempted – pun intended – to let Dean fester in the awkward silence, but after an hour grew bored.

“So… classic Impala?”

Dean glanced at him. “Problem?”

“You’ve seen my car,” Crowley quipped before proudly adding, “I bought her new off the line.”

“Brand new? Isn’t that model from, like, the 30s?”

“1926!” Crowley placed a hand on his chest in mock – well, sort of – offense. “I’ve kept her in perfect condition.”

“I’ve had to repair the Impala a few times; even built her back from the frame a time or two. She’s never done me wrong.”

“Well…” Crowley hesitated. “There was that one time a few decades ago I drove the Bentley through hellfire… But Adam fixed all that for us.”

Dean blinked and stared at him a little longer than was a good idea for driving. “You… drove through _hellfire_ and someone was able to _fix it_?”

“He’s the antichrist, and at the time he had full possession of his powers,” Crowley said defensively. “Besides, I had to in order to even _get_ to the site of Armageddon.”

The hunter looked as if he wanted to say something more but decided on something else. “Anyway. I convinced Dad to buy the Impala in ’73, instead of some old van.”

Crowley eyed him. “My sense of time may be skewed since I’m immortal, but I _know_ you’re not old enough for that.”

“Time travel,” Dean shrugged, as if that explained everything.

Crowley chose not to push it. He knew that was something the Archangels could arrange and given the Winchesters’ involvement in the supposed recent Armageddon, Crowley wouldn’t be surprised if the higher-ups were hands-on.

“And you dad just let you have it did he?”

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. “My dad’s dead,” he said, voice hard.

“Was he a hunter too?”

Dean glanced at him, suspicion written all over his face. “Yeah, and a good one too. One of the best.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Died of old age then?”

The hunter’s scowl deepened. “He was killed by a demon,” he snapped finally. “A demon with yellow eyes.”

“Wasn’t me,” the former demon said defensively. “I don’t go in for the whole murdering people thing.”

“You were going to kill _us_ ,” Dean pointed out, “and Aziraphale said something about bombing a church.”

“Self defense,” Crowley sniffed, slouching a bit more in his seat to get comfortable.

Dean scoffed, but didn’t say anything more about that particular issue. “We know it wasn’t you. His name was Azazel, and I killed him.”

Crowley lifted his glasses and peered at his driver. “ _You_ killed a Prince of Hell?”

Dean nodded.

The former demon merely nodded, impressed, and let his glasses slide back into place.

They spent the rest of the trip talking about the hunt and how Dean wanted to do things. Crowley had only a few protests, but eventually conceded the battle. Didn’t mean he was going _actually_ do as he was told, but it stopped the bickering for now.

They finally pulled into the parking lot of a dingy motel, where Dean disappeared inside before returning with a pair of keys and drove around the building to their unit.

“You stay in places like this?” Crowley asked, looking around the room in disgust. A single full-sized bed sat against one wall with a small table opposite it. A kitchenette hid behind a terribly decorated screen-wall. A single lounge chair was tucked into the corner.

“Gotta do what you gotta do,” Dean shrugged. “It’s cheap and available.”

Crowley sighed.

“Better change,” Dean said, tossing his bag onto the bed. 

“I don’t see how being a serpent will help fight a poltergeist.”

The hunter scowled. “Clothes, dumbass. We’re going to pose as workers from the electric company. Were you even _listening_ to me in the car?”

Crowley crinkled his nose. “Fine,” he said, snapping his fingers and changing into something not dissimilar to what he’d worn to pose as pest control once upon a time. It felt good to wear the jacket Aziraphale referred to as his “trouble-making” jacket. Crowley himself preferred to call it his “fucking shit up” jacket.

Dean blinked at him. “Okay, that’s just freaky.”

The former demon grinned at him.

“I’m going to change in the bathroom; I’ll be right back.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. Why he thought this would be a good idea, he’d never know. Aziraphale would only be gone one night, as he had agreed to stay in Wichita with Sam and Bobby after acquiring the Epistle. Even though Dean referred to this as a “cut and dry” case, Crowley suspected _nothing_ the Winchesters ever did went as smoothly as they intended.

Which only made him worry about Aziraphale more.

The trip to the warehouse was uneventful. The manager didn’t even seem interested in what the hunting pair were doing; she just checked their IDs and went back to her office after announcing over the intercom that they were there.

“It’s definitely a poltergeist,” Dean said as they pulled back into the motel. “We’ll have to go back once everyone leaves; one of the guys I talked to said shifts end at eleven.”

Crowley shrugged. That left him several hours to take a nap or have a drink while Dean did whatever it was he did before a confrontation. “Fabulous,” he muttered.

Dean disappeared into the bathroom to change and Crowley sank down into the chair. He snapped his undercover clothes away – goodbye for now, FSU jacket – and settled into his preferred skinny jeans.

The hunter reemerged from the bathroom in the same ACDC t-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing for the drive, frowning at his phone. “He didn’t answer,” he said.

“Who?”

“Sam. They should be done with the trade and at their motel by now.”

“Maybe they’re asleep,” Crowley suggested. “Or driving.”

“I’ll try Bobby,” Dean said.

Still no answer. Crowley tried not to be too worried. He focused on the corner of his mind where he could usually feel Aziraphale, and found it dimmer than usual, but nothing too concerning. They were still figuring out how this strange new link worked. 

“Can you call Aziraphale?”

Crowley shook his head. “Much as I try, he refuses to carry a mobile.”

Dean paused. “I’ll try again in a bit,” he finally said, dropping down onto the bed.

The concern emanating from the hunter was nearly palpable, and Crowley wondered if his sensitivity to it was somehow magnified by his partial Rise. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he said lamely. Comforting others was not really his strong suit, unless it was Aziraphale.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, unconvinced. 

“Do you think we should head down there?”

“They’re only a few hours away,” Dean said slowly. “We can take care of the poltergeist and hit the road, just to be safe. Besides, Aziraphale is with them. He can keep them safe, right?”

The look on Crowley’s face did _not_ seem to help the hunter.

“He’s got the same abilities as you do, _right_?”

“I mean, _technically_ ,” the former demon waved his hands, “yes, but he’s got a knack for getting into trouble. One time in 1793 he popped into France for crepes and-”

“I don’t need to know,” Dean interrupted. “This moves up our timetable. We need to get that warehouse emptied out and take care of the poltergeist _now_.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“We’re from the electric company, right? We tell them there’s some loose wiring and it could start a fire.”

“I could start an actual fire,” Crowley volunteered, “or infest the place with rats, or-” He already had his jacket in hand.

“Our goal is to _prevent_ more damage!” Dean snapped. “We don’t _want_ to burn the place down.”

Crowley sighed in disappointment and sent his jacket home again.

“I thought you weren’t into killing people,” Dean accused.

The former demon shrugged. “Nobody would die. I’m capable of _that_ at least.”

Dean seemed skeptical, but stood again and returned to the bathroom. “Get ready to go, and be ready for a fight.”

Crowley groaned. Why was this a good idea?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter please drop a comment! Comments sustain me. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I figured since this weekend is Easter (for those who celebrate it), I would upload early this week! I'm also finally officially moving in with my parents on Saturday, which means I'm not going to have a lot of time to write this weekend as it is. That being said, I may upload chapter five on Sunday too depending on what's going on. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Sam and Bobby had spent the last couple of hours trying to find a way out of the cellar they’d been thrown into, but it was no good. It was so dark they could barely see, and everything was locked up tight. They’d agreed to look after Aziraphale, who was still unconscious, and discuss their option while they waited.

The only good news they had was that Adaline made sure the former angel’s wound was properly treated and dressed, so they didn’t have to worry about him bleeding out.

“She’s just protecting her ‘investment’,” Bobby growled once their captors left. “

“Won’t any drugs she gives him affect his blood?” Sam asked.

The older hunter shrugged. “She’s smart enough to find something that won’t permanently damage him.”

The men sat in silence for a while after that.

“How long do you think it will take Dean to figure out we’re in trouble?” Sam finally said.

He felt Bobby shrug. “Sooner rather than later I’d hope, but we’re not due back until tomorrow. My bet’s on Crowley sensing something’s wrong with his partner.”

“How do you think that works?”

“Who knows.”

Aziraphale stirred and groaned.

“Aziraphale?” Sam gently touched the former angel’s shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

There was a pause, then a slurred “yes”.

“We’re in a cellar. Can you get us out?”

“Caaaan’t…. focus….” Aziraphale pressed his hands to his temples. “Head hurts.”

“Chloroform will do that to a person,” Bobby said. “Will the drugs work on you?”

“I… don’t sssee why they… wouldn’t,” Aziraphale said, struggling with each word. “Oh dear… I feel… a bit… woozy.”

“Just stay lying down,” Sam instructed, though his friend – at least _he_ thought of him as a friend, even if Aziraphale hadn’t quite forgiven him yet – hadn’t made a move to attempt sitting. “They fixed up where they shot you at least.”

“I’ve been… shot?” Aziraphale squeaked, clearly distressed.

Bobby and Sam shared a look, though they could barely make out each other’s silhouettes.

“It’s going to be alright. Dean and Crowley will come to get us, I’m sure,” Sam continued.

“Crowley? Where is he?” the former angel’s voice grew in both pitch and volume, and Sam could hear dirt crunching as Aziraphale frantically turned his head in search of his partner.

“He’s with Dean,” Bobby said. “They’re at my place.”

There was a moment of silence, then a low groan from Aziraphale. “I think… I may go back… to sleep.”

“You should try to stay awake,” Bobby told him.

Aziraphale sighed. “…sit?”

Sam hesitated, but acquiesced. “Help me out, Bobby.”

“This is a terrible idea,” the older man grumbled, but did as he was asked.

The hunters each slid one arm under Aziraphale’s shoulders and the other under a leg. The former angel whined when they hauled him up and scooted him back against the concrete wall. They heard his head thunk back as he panted.

“Ah… thank you,” he wheezed.

They sat in silence for a while. Sam contemplated other options; at some point their captors were going to have to bring them food. They might be able to make a stand and win, but what then? They had no idea where Adaline had brought them, how many goons she had, and how many of them were monsters.

Then there was Aziraphale. There was no way the former angel would be able to help them right now – or even in the near future. Moving him was going to take time and care. Sam and Bobby both knew first-hand how easy it was to re-open a fresh bullet wound. They would have to be careful with him even if he wasn’t drugged.

 _Hey Cas,_ Sam prayed, even though he’d already tried, _if you have a minute, can you reach Dean? I figure if you could help us directly you would, but Bobby and I are still trapped and Aziraphale’s hurt pretty bad and they’ve drugged him to Hell and back. Crowley should be with Dean, so if you can just get them…_

Sam sighed. Cas had been harder to reach than normal ever since the fight with Lucifer and Michael. He was fighting Raphael and all, but sometimes they could really use his help.

“I’ve tried Cas, but I don’t think he’ll come,” Sam said.

“Adaline probably has warding up anyway,” Bobby said. “She’s paranoid that way.”

Sam turned so he could lean on the wall next to Aziraphale. Cold immediately leached through his shirt. He shivered. “Aziraphale, aren’t you cold?”

“Hmm?” the former angel hummed. “Cold…”

“That’s it,” Bobby snapped, and Sam heard the older man stand. His shadow fumbled across the room and banged on the cellar door. “Adaline! Or one of you bastards up there! At least get us a blanket or something if you want Aziraphale to live, damnit!” he paused, then banged again. “I know there’s someone up there! That bitch is too paranoid not to have guards nearby!”

“Hush up down there!” a muffled voice ordered, followed by a sharp thud.

“Don’t you tell me to hush up!” Bobby shouted back, hammering harder. “You tell that bitch Adaline if she wants Aziraphale alive, she’d better give us the means to take care of him!”

Aziraphale whimpered and Sam felt his arm move. He realized the former angel was covering his ears.

“Bobby,” Sam said, and when his father figure didn’t respond he repeated himself. “Bobby!”

Aziraphale flinched.

Sam got up and stumbled his way toward the faint light that made its way through the door and grabbed Bobby’s arm. “You’re hurting Aziraphale’s head,” he said when he finally got Bobby to shut up.

The hunter grunted. “I’ll try again in a bit.”

Both men made their way through the dark back to Aziraphale’s side.

“There appears… to be a leak,” the former angel said. His voice sounded a little clearer now.

“Great, we’re going to have to sit in a puddle now?” Bobby growled.

“Where is it?” Sam asked. “We can move you out of the way.”

Aziraphale groped around for Sam’s hand for a moment. When Sam finally managed to meet his grasp, their injured friend lifted his hand. “Here.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Sam frowned. Aziraphale released him while Sam felt around for any drips. He pressed his hand against the wall and gently slid it around.

“My shirt is wet,” Aziraphale protested, reaching back up to guide Sam’s fingers to a wet patch on his shirt.

“That’s odd,” the younger hunter mused.

“What is it?” Bobby said.

“His shirt _is_ wet, but I can’t find any drips.”

“Let me see,” Bobby grumbled. “I’m on this side anyway.”

The older hunter started gently feeling around for the wet patch. Aziraphale inhaled sharply when Bobby found it.

“That ain’t water,” Bobby said. “Ever had a _warm_ leak in a cellar?”

Sam cursed under his breath.

“I told you movin’ him was a bad idea.”

Aziraphale reached up and tugged at his shirt again. “Am I… in trouble?”

“You’ll be fine,” Sam said quickly. “It’s just a little bit of blood. No big deal. Dean and I have dealt with much worse, right Bobby?”

Bobby grunted.

Just then the cellar door opened, flooding the small room with blinding light. Aziraphale squeaked and clenched his eyes shut even as he turned his face away. 

Once his eyes adjusted, Sam was able to see a stain on the former angel’s shirt. At least it was small, he thought.

“Calling me names isn’t a good way to get what you want,” Adaline said, slowly stepping down the short three steps into the cellar.

“Got your attention, didn’t it?” Bobby said, moving in front of Aziraphale.

She smirked at Bobby. “How’s my angel?”

The hunters started.

“That’s right. I told you I would find out what he was. The name ‘Aziraphale’ is hardly unknown in my circles.” Adaline placed her hands on her hips. “He smells different than other angels I’ve met, but maybe it’s because he’s a Principality. I’ve not met one of those before.

“The entire place warded, in case you were thinking about sneaking him out,” she added. “Your buddy in the trench coat can’t get in either.”

 _Not that Cas would respond,_ Sam thought bitterly.

There was an awkward moment of silence where Bobby and Sam both glared at their captor. 

Adaline’s smile faded. “Well? What is it you were shouting about? I have work to do, you know.”

“We could use a couple blankets,” Bobby said, “and a lamp if you don’t mind.”

“Why on earth would I give you those?”

“You’ve got Aziraphale _drugged_!” Sam snapped. “ _And_ he’s hurt. We need to keep him warm or your precious ‘investment’ is going to die.”

Adaline scoffed. “A simple bullet wound isn’t going to kill an angel.”

“He’s not borrowing somebody’s vessel you asshole. He’s got his own body and he can’t heal himself if he can’t focus, which he _can’t_ while you have him doped!”

The woman eyed him. “How would you know?”

“Dean hit him over the head with a gun when we met.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Adaline rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll bring you a blanket each when we bring you dinner. I’ll _think_ about the lamp.” She turned and strode up the stairs, her goons pointing their guns down the hole at them until the doors slammed shut and locked them back in darkness.

“Think she’ll follow through?” Sam asked.

“Adaline may be a backstabbing bitch, but she won’t risk Aziraphale dying. She knows she’s taking a huge risk by holding us captive as it is,” Bobby grunted as he plopped back down to Aziraphale’s left.

Sam settled back against the concrete. “This sucks.”

“That, dear boy,” Aziraphale murmured, “is an understatement.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter please drop a comment! Comments sustain me. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean really hates poltergeists and Cas is an ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> So I thought Passover was this week but turns out it was last week, so happy late Passover to those who celebrate it!
> 
> Hope everyone is staying inside and staying safe in these trying times!

Everything was eerily quiet as the impala rolled to a stop in front of the warehouse. Dean glanced at his passenger, who was staring at the large building with an unreadable expression. “Ready?” he asked.

Crowley didn’t move. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured.

“What?” Dean asked. “They didn’t question us too closely when I called ahead and given the quiet, I think for once they actually listened and got the hell out of dodge. We should be in the clear.”

The former demon finally turned in his seat to look at Dean. “Not here; with Aziraphale. Something’s definitely wrong… I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Unease twisted in Dean’s gut, but he swallowed it down. His older brother instincts were screaming for him to put the peddle to the metal and find Sammy, but this poltergeist wasn’t going to be satisfied with playing with the lights for long. “Let’s take care of this bastard so we can go find them,” he growled.

Crowley stared at him for another moment before nodded and stepping out of the car. “What do you want me to do again?”

“Try and keep it off me while I place the hexbags,” Dean said as he double-checked his pockets for said pouches. “The nice thing about the warehouse is it’s one giant room; no need to worry about multiple floors.”

“But it’s bigger and more maze-like,” Crowley grinned. “Think you’ll look like a little lab-rat running around looking for cheese?”

Dean scowled. “You can knock holes in the wall and shove hexbags in if you want,” he retorted.

Crowley shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of the jacket he was so obsessed with. Dean couldn’t fathom why. “I bet I can do it faster than you.”

“We are not using your weird magic. I want to make sure this sticks,” the hunter said as he tugged two of the bags from his pocket and offered them to Crowley. “But you’re right. We can probably get this done faster if you get two of the walls. Just watch your back; as soon as we start, it’s going to know what we’re up to.”

The former demon accepted the offered items. “You should be more worried about you.”

Dean resisted the urge to rise to the bait and instead began stalking towards the warehouse, carefully watching its dark outline. He heard Crowley following. As he neared the doors, the hunter noticed a piece of paper taped to one of them.

_Hey boys,_

_Thanks for the heads up. I should probably wait here for you, but I’m not gonna mess around with electrical fires. Keys are on my desk; lock up when you’re done and toss the keys in through a window. Good luck!_

“Wow,” he murmured. “Someone’s going to be losing their job if word gets out.”

“She’ll be fine,” Crowley said with certainty.

The pair pushed through the doors and paused just inside, surveying the dark building. Dean reached out and clicked the lightswitch a few times. “They shut off the power,” he huffed. “Figures.”

“Anything to help stop a fire,” Crowley smirked. “Shall we get to work?”

Dean fumbled with his phone until he got the flashlight on. “I’ll get North and East, you get South and West?”

Crowley turned around, punched a hole in the wall next to the door, and grinned. “Give you a head start,” he said, then whirled around and dashed off into the darkness.

For a moment, Dean considered knocking his own hole in the wall just to spite Crowley, but quickly decided against it for the sake of time. “These guys need more windows,” he grumbled as he shoved the first hexbag into the space and dropped it.

He flew backwards, as if a rope had been tied around his waist and yanked. He landed hard and rolled into the metal shelving that made up one of the storage isles. The wind was driven from his lungs as he hit. _One down… three to go._

The hunter scrambled to retrieve his phone from where it had fallen – damnit, the screen was cracked - and hauled himself to his feet and started booking it in the direction opposite Crowley. He didn’t make it far before he heard a loud crash on the far end of the warehouse. Dean paused, already half turned to make sure his partner in hunting was okay, when the ground started to shake and pallets started sliding off the shelves and onto the isle floor around him. “Son of a bitch!” Dean shouted as he started running again, cursing the size of the building as he skidded around the end of the isle and dodged around several desks littering the open space.

A power cord ripped itself from the wall and caught Dean around the ankles, sending him crashing back to the concrete floor. He grunted as he felt skin on his elbows and palms split on impact. Both his phone and the hex bag flew from his hands, skidding across the floor. The flashlight went out and he was plunged back into darkness. There were apparently no windows on this side of the building.

This dilemma was immediately solved by brilliant floodlights suddenly switching on as a forklift started. After he was done squinting against the assault on his eyes, Dean tried to locate the lost hexbag. His phone could wait.

No sooner had he spotted it under a desk, Dean was yanked back and up by an invisible force and slammed against the very wall he was trying to punch a hole in. The forklift rolled forward, pallet-jack rising as it came towards him.

“Crowley!” He shouted, struggling against the poltergeist’s hold. “Now would be a really good time to finish!”

The machine roared closer, picking up speed once its forks were level with Dean’s chest.

“ _Crowley!_ ” Dean closed his eyes and flinched back into the wall.

There was a crash and the sound of twisting metal and Dean crumpled to the floor as the pressure holding him suddenly vanished. He looked up to see Crowley, fist in the wall, screaming something in a language he didn’t recognize. At least, the hunter _assumed_ the former demon was screaming, based on his body language and the way his mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear him over the piercing wailing filling the warehouse.

Then everything was quiet and completely black. For a moment, Dean thought he’d gone blind.

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked, grabbing his arms to haul him to his feet.

Dean jumped at the unexpected contact, but accepted the help standing when he realized who it was. “I think so. Is it gone?”

There was a faint rustle.

“I can’t see in the dark,” Dean said.

“Right, er,” Crowley snapped, and silver light with no discernable source flooded the area. “Yes, it’s gone.”

Dean surveyed the damage. Piles of stuff filled the isles and several shelving sections were completely knocked over. The forklift was several feet off the ground, wedged into one of the pallet shelves sideways.

“So much for not causing damage,” the hunter sighed. Just once he’d like a job to go smoothly. “We should get out of here.”

Crowley agreed. 

“Sam’s in trouble.”

The pair jumped and spun. Cas stood in front of the wrecked forklift, staring about him dispassionately.

“Great timing bud. Hey, next time, do you think you could show up _before_ I get crushed by a forklift?” Dean said waspishly.

“I’ve been busy, Dean,” Cas snapped. “Sam’s been praying for hours now but I can’t get to them. Wherever they’re being held is warded.”

Rage bubbled up inside the hunter. “Why didn’t you come get me sooner?” he shouted, then winced and grabbed his side. Now that the adrenaline was fading, Dean was becoming aware of how much he hurt.

“I told you, I was busy!”

“I hate to break up this lovely reunion,” Crowley said, and Dean shot him a worried look, “but what kind of trouble, and where are they being held? Where is Aziraphale?”

Cas turned his sour look on the former demon. “He says Aziraphale is hurt. I don’t know more than that. They’re somewhere near Cheney Reservoir in Kansas,” Cas told them, turning his attention back to Dean. “Now I have an interrogation to get back to.”

He vanished.

“Interrogation?” Dean started to ask, but the next thing he knew they were back in the car and Crowley was behind the wheel. “What the hell?”

“Aziraphale’s hurt,” Crowley growled, grinding his teeth. “I knew you people were nothing but trouble.”

Dean folded his arms. “Then why do you come around? You two don’t _have_ to hang out at Bobby’s all the time.”

“You think I haven’t tried talking Aziraphale out of it?” the former demon snapped back, whipping the impala out of the warehouse parking lot. They were on the freeway in a flash and Dean was genuinely concerned for his car.

“Right,” Dean swallowed. “Now’s not the time to argue about it. Let’s get there and get them out.”

Crowley’s eyes didn’t leave the road and his fingers flexed on the steering wheel.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“I’m following Aziraphale.”

 _Right_ … Dean thought, but didn’t press it. “What’s the plan?”

Crowley still didn’t respond, but Dean had developed a sense for malicious intent.

“Crowley,” he said again, wary. “What’s the plan?”

“That depends on what they’ve done to my angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments sustain me. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley best be careful with Dean's baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed last week! And this is a short chapter to boot... I'll try to double update this week to make up for it!
> 
> Hope everyone is doing okay and staying safe!

Crowley drove as if the world was ending, and Dean thought it weird that both people in the car had experienced the end of the world in one form or another. He wanted to ask the demon how they were avoiding cops – several of which they’d passed and none of which had pulled out to follow them – and how they were somehow defying physics. The needle on the speedometer never dropped below 100. He hadn't expected to arrive until long after dark, but here it was only sunset and they weren't far off.

“We’re getting close to the exit we need,” Dean said, breaking the silence at last. “The next one, take a right.”

Crowley grunted and the Impala’s tires screeched as he swerved across the freeway and down the ramp, barely slowing down as they skidded around the corner and took off down the road. Dean flinched at the sound.

“Your car will be fine,” Crowley ground out.

“She better be,” Dean grumbled, but was made nervous enough by Crowley’s behavior to leave it at that. “Crowley,” he ventured again, “we need a plan. We can’t go in half-cocked without knowing what we’re getting into.”

The steering wheel creaked under Crowley’s fingers.

“Look, I get it. My brother’s in there. Bobby’s like a father to me. I want to get in there and kill every son of a bitch in the way. And if Sammy’s hurt…” he ground his teeth. “But we’re no good to them if we get ourselves hurt or captured too, and if they could hurt Aziraphale, it means they can hurt you. We need a _plan_.”

Dean was suddenly thrown forward and the tires screamed on the pavement as the Impala slid to a stop on the side of the road. Crowley turned in his seat to look at him. “What did you have in mind?”

__________________________

Crowley didn’t like this whole thing. He’d _told_ Aziraphale. He’d _told_ them they were only going to drag them into trouble. Funny that the former angel had been the one to warn _him_ after his antics with the Ghostwatchers – or whatever they were called – and now Crowley was the one who was worried.

He didn’t like Dean’s plan, either, but Crowley had to admit the hunter had a few good points. He couldn’t help Aziraphale if he got himself hurt too, and they didn’t know if angel warding would work against him now.

That was their first test.

“We have to keep our guard up,” Dean whispered, crouching behind some shrubs at the edge of a large garden. A rather nice cabin sat in the middle of the property, lit by floodlights on every corner. There were a few people standing together on a deck that wrapped around the back of the house. All of them carried guns, but they didn’t seem to be actively patrolling.

Crowley grunted.

“We need to figure out how to get past them without drawing attention, and once we test the warding, we’re going to have to move fast. If you can’t get through, I’m sure they’ll figure out something tried to get in, so I’ll need to break it quickly. If you _can_ , then we can go in and raise hell.”

“Let’s try to keep Hell out of this,” Crowley sniffed, not wanting to think about what might happen if Hastur or Beelzebub showed up.

Dean stared at him. “Right.”

Crowley melted into a snake, eliciting a sharp inhale from Dean. The hunter muttered something under his breath about a warning, but settled back and watched as Crowley slithered forward.

The former demon slithered forward, keeping a careful watch on the group on the deck. None of them seemed to notice him, so he turned his gaze to the house. His draw to Aziraphale grew fuzzier here. He was getting close, but he couldn’t pinpoint his friend like he usually could.

Halfway across the lawn, Crowley’s nose bumped into something cold. A shiver raced down his body and for a moment he didn’t dare move. When he looked, something shiny caught his eye. Embedded in the ground and hidden by the grass was an Enochian sigil. It was formed out of a metal that caught the light cast by the lights on the deck. As he looked, Crowley noticed another about a foot away on either side, and more beyond them, circling the cabin.

Crowley glanced behind him, where he could see Dean’s heat signature behind his chosen shrub. The hunter gave him a thumbs up. Crowley rolled his eyes and moved ahead.

The moment his head passed the warding, he met resistance. It felt like pushing through molasses; he could get through, but very slowly. He wouldn’t be much use if everywhere in the circle was going to be like this. Flicking his tongue in irritation, Crowley beat a hasty return to Dean’s side and shifted back into human form. 

“I can get through, but it’s restricting,” he explained, “and the warding appears to be in the ground itself.”

“What, like it’s carved in the dirt?”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s metal. Silver probably, or at least silver-lined. I don’t know how deep it goes, but I’m not sure how you’ll be able to break it.”

“Damn,” Dean muttered, squinting back at the yard. The group on the deck was starting to break up and move around, a few going back into the house and a few heading into the garden.

“Any ideas?”

Dean grinned at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments sustain me. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets a blanket, Sam has a nightmare, and Adaline has a fire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, an extra chapter this week! And this one is much longer to make up for the wait and subsequent short chapter. Enjoy!

Adaline was true to her word and sent three blankets with their dinner – a surprisingly good stew with a side of garlic bread and a gallon jug of water – as well as a doctor to look at Aziraphale’s shoulder. Several guards joined him and held the hunters back as the doctor administered more drugs. Sam gritted his teeth, but knew fighting was futile.

The group left, plunging the trio back into darkness. 

“Guess she didn’t want us to have a lamp,” Sam mourned.

“She knows we’re smart enough to get out of here eventually. She’s just trying to delay that inevitability while she figures out what to do with us,” Bobby grouched.

Sam wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and settled against the wall beside Aziraphale again. The former angel didn’t acknowledge him; he was probably asleep again.

“Come on, Bobby,” Sam said. “We might as well get some rest and try to figure something out tomorrow.”

“No way I’m fallin’ asleep in a cellar,” Bobby said. “You get some sleep; I’ll wake you up if anything starts happenin’.”

The younger hunter thought about arguing for a moment, but decided against it. “Goodnight, Bobby,” he said instead, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes. _Dean… hurry up._

_____________________

_It had been a long day. His first hunt in a couple years and his dad was missing, and Dean was trying everything he could to get Sam to stay. The younger man had to admit a small part of him wanted to go with his brother. He’d always looked up to Dean, and seeing how upset he got when Sam insisted on returning to Stanford tugged at his heartstrings._

_But he had Jess, and a life he was building for them. He knew the road hunting would take him down, and he wouldn’t do that to Jessica. He shouldn’t have even left this weekend. John was probably fine._

_“Jess, I’m home!” he called, dropping his bags. The plate of cookies caught his eye and he took one. Still warm; nothing soothed his anxiety like a fresh cookie._

_The shower was running. Sam thought about joining her and celebrating his safe return to normalcy, but the bed was far too inviting. He flopped down and breathed deep, enjoying the smell of them – the smell of_ home _._

_Something dripped on his face. Then again. He opened his eyes._

_“Jess!”_

_Jess was on the ceiling and suddenly it was on fire and Dean was screaming his name and he was screaming for Jess but Dean was calling him and shaking him and dragging him out the door-_

“Sam!”

Sam opened his eyes, gasping. Bobby was kneeling in front of him, violently shaking him.

“Bout time you woke up, ya idjit!” the elder hunter snapped. “We gotta get out of here!”

“Wha-” Sam started coughing. There was a dull roar above them, and smoke was filling the small cellar. It was hot – _very_ hot. The hunter quickly shed his blanket and pressed it over his mouth. Through the smoke, he could see a brilliant red light shining through the cellar door and hear shouting. He immediately looked at Aziraphale, who had a handkerchief pressed over his nose and mouth. The former angel’s eyes were wide and terrified.

“The house is on fire!” Sam shouted.

Bobby glared at him. “I couldn’t tell,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sam tugged his flannel off and wrapped it around his right arm before crossing the cellar and slamming himself up into the door. It didn’t give. “Let us out!” He shouted, banging on it with his covered arm. Even through the wood he could feel the heat; it was a miracle it hadn’t caught fire itself yet.

Miracle.

He glanced back at Aziraphale, who seemed to recognize what he was asking and shook his head.

“Let us out!” Same shouted again, continuing to pound on the door until he started coughing again. His throat was burning and his eyes were starting to water so badly he had to close them. He could hear Bobby and Aziraphale coughing too.

“Help!” he tried again, his voice hoarse. “ _Help!_ ”

Bobby grabbed him and yanked him away from the door, dragging him back by Aziraphale, coughing the whole while. “The door’s gonna catch fire soon, and we’re going to have to try to push through once it does,” Bobby wheezed, shoving one of the blankets into his hands.

“What about Aziraphale?” Sam asked. “He can’t walk!”

“We’ll have to carry him,” Bobby said. “Help me get him onto this blanket.”

“Sammy!”

Sam paused and looked up, squinting at the door. The fire was getting brighter and the roaring louder, but he could have sworn…

“ _Sammy!”_

_“Aziraphale! Where are you?”_

Sam and Bobby shared a look, and Sam forced his shaky limbs to carry him back to the cellar door. “Dean!” he shouted, then started coughing again. He banged on the door. “Dean!”

Sam fell back as flames crackled through the door. He scrambled back to Bobby and Aziraphale, both of whom were barely moving. “Bobby?” Sam rasped, shaking his father figure. “Bobby, come on, we gotta go.”

There was a loud bang and Sam looked up in time to see the cellar doors flying out of sights. The light from the fire was blinding – or was that the smoke in his eyes? – and a silhouette appeared in the stairs.

_“Aziraphale!”_

A hand reached for them, and everything went dark.

_____________________

“-melt them, not burn the whole place down!”

“You said to start a fire! I can’t control it once it’s set!”

Sam groaned. His head was pounding and his throat felt like he’d been gargling gravel. “Dean?”

The arguing stopped and Sam heard rushed footsteps. “I’m right here,” Dean said.

Sam squinted. His brother’s face was blurry, but it was definitely Dean and they were definitely back at Bobby’s. “What happened? We were in a cellar and there was a fire-”

Dean shot a sharp glare over his shoulder, and when Sam followed his gaze he saw Crowley sitting next to Bobby’s couch, holding Aziraphale’s hand. The former demon returned Dean’s venomous look, and Sam noticed with a start that he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

“How’s Aziraphale? Bobby?” Sam asked before they could start arguing again.

Dean glared for a moment more before turning back to his brother. “They’re alive. Bobby’s on a cot just over there,” he gestured to Sam’s other side. “You all inhaled a lot of smoke, but you’ll be okay.”

“Can’t you just heal us?” Sam asked, looking back at Crowley.

The former demon’s expression soured further. “I tried.”

Sam’s face scrunched and Dean answered before he could even ask. “Hellfire. Apparently even demons can’t heal damage caused that way.”

“I’m not a demon anymore,” Crowley snapped. “Not all the way, anyway.”

“Why’d you even _use_ hellfire?” Dean spun around again.

“You wanted me to melt the Enochian sigils! Do you really think regular fire could touch something that powerful?”

“I didn’t want you to burn down the whole house! What if they died?”

Crowley’s face suddenly relaxed and went deadpan; terrifyingly so. “I think we both know what the outcome would have been,” he said in a low tone, voice cold.

Chills ran down Sam’s spine. He no longer had any illusions he or his brother could best their new friends if it came to it, even if Dean was on a holy mission to avenge his younger brother.

“But we didn’t,” Sam said, voice straining. “We’re all okay. It’ll be fine. Can you at least heal Aziraphale?”

Crowley stared at Dean for a few moments longer before his face softened and he looked at Sam. “The smoke didn’t affect him as much, and I was able to heal the bullet wound… but whatever they drugged him with will have to work itself out of his system.”

Sam sighed with relief and sat up.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what do you think you’re doing?” Dean grabbed his shoulders.

“Getting a glass of water.”

“I can do that. You stay put.”

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t try to stay while Dean went for water. He looked over at Bobby, watching the older hunter’s chest rise and fall. Sam wondered what might have happened if they hadn’t taken Aziraphale along. Bobby had trusted Adaline – was she even still alive? – to follow a certain moral code, obviously, but hadn’t trusted her enough to get him the real thing? Or did he just want an excuse to invite his new book buddy?

Sam sighed. He understood why Crowley was so angry. Aziraphale was hurt because he’d been with the Winchesters. It was something they dealt with constantly; the people around them getting hurt and killed just for their proximity. But this time, Dean was justified in his rage too. Sam and Bobby got hurt because they were with _Aziraphale_.

He wondered if Crowley knew that too.

A glance over his shoulder showed Crowley slumped forward in his chair, face in his hands, and taking deep breaths.

Dean returned with two glasses and set one on the floor beside Bobby’s cot.

“Why are we all in the front room?” Sam asked.

“So we can keep an eye on you,” Dean said as he handed his brother his water.

Sam drank gratefully. “Make’s sense I guess.” He looked at his hands. “We’re lucky we didn’t get burned.”

“I might not be able to completely control a fire once it’s started, but I can at least keep it away from us,” Crowley said, voice muffled by his hands. He lifted his head. “I miracled us back here as soon as we had you anyway.”

“Better not have hurt Baby,” Dean muttered.

Sam gave his brother a warning look, but it was ignored.

“What are you still doing here anyway?” Dean asked.

“Oh, right, I forgot you are completely capable of dealing with Hellfire injuries on your own. My bad. We’ll just head out then, shall we?”

And they were gone.

Dean cursed and paced towards the fireplace, running his hands through his hair. He stopped and slammed a fist against the mantel.

“Dean,” Sam said gently.

His brother didn’t move.

“Dean,” he said again, louder, and the coughed. He took another drink.

“We went for a hunt,” Dean said quietly. 

“What?”

“After you three left. Poltergeist in Omaha. I was planning on you and I taking it once you got back but Crowley wanted to go.”

Sam did the math. “That means you were three hours closer. You got to us faster.”

Dean was silent for a moment. “He saved my life.”

“What? How?”

“The poltergeist had me pinned against the wall and was coming at me with a forklift. Crowley… stopped it. Threw the damn truck into a wall.”

Sam gaped at his brother. “He threw the forklift into a _wall_?”

Dean nodded and turned around, leaning against the mantel with a sigh. “We already knew something was wrong when you didn’t answer your phone, and he said he sensed something off with Aziraphale. Then when we ganked the poltergeist, Cas showed up and confirmed you were in trouble and Crowley took off.”

 _So Cas_ did _listen,_ Sam thought, glad their angel friend still had them on his radar, busy as he was.

“You should apologize,” Sam suggested.

Dean made a face. “I’m not gonna owe that bastard another favor.”

“I doubt he’ll ask for another favor, especially if you reach out on your own. Aziraphale was only in trouble because of us.”

“And you were only in trouble because of Aziraphale!”

“But _we_ took Aziraphale in the first place. If we hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been there to get us in trouble,” Sam pointed out. “We both know they’re probably going to come around again, or we’re going to need their help for something. Do you really want to be fighting with Crowley the whole time?”

Dean grunted.

“Dean-”

He waved him off. “I’ll call, I’ll call.”

Dean slipped back into the kitchen for his phone and Sam sighed.

And here he thought Dean and Crowley might be starting to get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments sustain me. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit early for y'all! 
> 
> I already have stuff written for the next one, so I should be able to start posting that sometime next week. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me through this!

Crowley stormed around their cottage in a huff, checking on Aziraphale, boiling water, checking on Aziraphale, steeping tea, checking on Aziraphale, mixing honey into tea, checking on Aziraphale…

He sighed and slumped into the chair he’d brought up and placed next to the bed so he could sit with his partner. Crowley placed the mug of tea on the bedstand for when Aziraphale woke up and dropped his head in his hands. His anger deflated, taking with it all his remaining energy.

What had he been thinking? Hellfire? At a cabin in the middle of the woods? Sparse woods, sure, but still woods. He’d just wanted to kill everyone there as fast as he could – and that bitch still got away. They’d made brief eye contact across the burning room when they’d found the cellar, and she’d smirked at him. Crowley was two steps after her when they heard Sam yelling, and he had to choose between her and Aziraphale.

It wasn’t even a choice.

Something else had been bugging him too; something he hadn’t been able to give a lot of thought to. Castiel said he was going to an interrogation. What was an _angel_ doing that required interrogating somebody? Aziraphale once mentioned the Winchester’s friend was trying to stop Raphael from starting Armageddon again, but they hadn’t talked about it much beyond that. Maybe they ought to have a talk with their respective sides and see what’s really happening.

Damn those Winchesters.

Crowely’s mobile started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and glared at it. The name WINCHESTER was blazoned across the screen. Crowley considered letting it go to voicemail, but Aziraphale would be disappointed in him.

“What?” he said.

There was a moment of silence before Dean spoke. “Crowley.”

Crowley didn’t reply.

Dean sighed. “Look, I… what I said. I’m protective of Sam-”

“You don’t say,” Crowley snarked, but Dean spoke over him.

“-and the thought of losing him _and_ Bobby at the same time…” he paused. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped. Did Dean… just _apologize_? On his _own_?

 _Sam probably had something to do with it,_ he thought.

“Aziraphale’s all I have,” Crowley said finally. “I can’t lose him either. Eternity is a long time to be alone.”

Dean mumbled an agreement. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“I think everyone was a little at fault in this one,” Crowley admitted.

“What matters is we got out.”

“We still have a rogue element,” Crowley reminded him.

“We’ll catch her,” Dean promised, “and when we do, I’ll give you a call.”

“You’d better.”

“Let us know when Aziraphale is up and moving.”

“Likewise, with Bobby.”

“Talk to you soon.” Dean hung up.

Crowley leaned back and draped his arms over the sides of the chair, dropping his phone on the floor. He felt better somehow, having made things right with Dean.

“Oh no,” he said to no one. “I’m making _friends_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments sustain me. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


End file.
